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There’s something almost reverential about the way he treats her.
A little over a week after the incident and she’d slept over at his house almost every night. Eventually she’d begun sleeping in the guest room as opposed to curled up beside him, but somehow the same level of intimacy remained in place.
But now they’re back at work. She’s back to sleeping at home and he’s back to sleeping by himself. And Joan is noticing little things. If he buys coffee in the morning, he’ll always bring her a cup. If they’re walking together, or even just in the same hallway, he’ll go out of his way to open doors. He compliments her, seemingly without reason. He tells her that her ideas are brilliant, that her leadership is great, that she’s beautiful, and funny, and strong, and insightful, and a million other adjectives so often that she’s beginning to suspect he’s memorizing a thesaurus for fun.
But the smallest and most striking thing she notices has nothing to do with him. It’s how little she minds. She thanks him and appreciates the little things. She drinks the coffee and walks through the doors and has started having to hide her blush when he compliments her.
It feels refreshing, strangely enough.
He’s not wearing her down the way that other men have tried to do before. At least, that’s not what it feels like. He’s not wearing her down, he’s building her up. He was always like that. She’d forgotten what it felt like to have someone love her that much.
Yeah. It’s refreshing.
*
Sam brings it up over lunch one day.
“So…” she begins, setting her glass down and leaning forward ever so slightly in her chair as she speaks. “Are you going to get back together with Owen?”
Plain and simple. No beating around the bush. And Sam is smiling, as though she’s just making harmless conversation, and Joan knows that she is but that doesn’t stop the sudden anxious feeling that hits her like a wave.
She doesn’t like the reminder that that’s how this goes. Because she likes things the way they are. She likes laughing with Owen and leaning on him and borrowing his jacket and staring at his face for a bit too long when they talk. This little game that they’re playing is one of the lightest feelings in the world. She doesn’t want a label weighing it down.
“I… don’t know,” she exhales. And from the look on her face Sam knows to change the subject.
But that’s not to say she doesn’t like talking about Owen. She could talk about him for hours. She has.
There was a day when she wasted her entire lunch hour babbling to Sam about his smile.
It’s nice to be feeling this way again. And she’s had enough of repressing her feelings. Especially the good ones. Hope. Happiness. Confidence. She likes those feelings.
She likes being lovestruck.
*
He asks her out three weeks after the incident.
From the moment he walks in she can tell that something’s up. He enters the building with an air of false confidence and a nervous look showing through. He’s dressed nicer than usual, nice enough for Mags to jokingly whistle.
That elicits a chuckle and a small smile from him and a knowing grin from Sam.
“Joan,” he greets her, beaming. “Would you- um, can we talk?”
“Sure,” she responds curiously. The awkward silence that follows is what clues her in. He meant in private.
She smiles and turns, leading the way down the hallway and into her office.
“So… what did you want to talk about?” She asks as she closes the door behind them. He takes a deep breath and turns to face her. He’s holding himself perfectly upright and she can tell he’s trying his hardest to have confidence. It’s adorable.
She lets herself get caught up in the giddy feeling of knowing what’s happening. What he’s going to ask.
“Do... Do you want to get dinner with me tomorrow night?”
She expects the dam to break. She expects all of her insecurities and anxieties to come flooding to the surface and ensure that she doesn’t say yes. But instead she feels no different.
And that’s the thing. She had built up this idea of not wanting things to change anymore. But nothing’s changed.
She expected finding love again to mean opening up her chest, rearranging and making room in her heart to let someone in.
She didn’t count on finding a perfect fit.
She’s been quiet for a moment, apparently, lost in her thoughts, because when she zones back in, Owen is starting to ramble.
“...and of course I understand if you don’t want to. You’re obviously under no obligation to- I just-“
He’s flustered and nervous and still looking her right in the eye and he’s beautiful. She sees the confusion and surprise flash over his face when she starts to laugh.
“I- Yes,” she grins, “I’d love to.”